


Sun-dried Kisses

by diemarysues



Series: A King and her Burglar [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Female Bilbo, Female Thorin, Genderswap, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:24:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set directly after 'Jewels in her Hair', in response to the prompt: </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Bathing or sexytimes in bath/pond/river As porny (or not) as you wish. Bonus points for hair washing.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun-dried Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daemonwildcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemonwildcat/gifts).



> Unbetaed.

“You,” said Bilbo, “are a colossal idiot.”

 

“I am not.”

 

Bilbo unceremoniously tossed her shortsword on the ground, ignoring Thorin’s (very) slight flinch. “In case you’ve forgotten, Thorin, you are the leader of this Company –”

 

“Of course I know that, I…” Thorin noticed the look being directed at her, and wisely shut her mouth.

 

Bilbo gave her one more glare for good measure. “You can’t keep throwing yourself at danger – what’s the point in reclaiming Erebor if you’re not there to rule it?”

 

“Fíli is my heir.” She mulishly turned from Bilbo under the pretence of unbuckling her vambrace.

 

“That may be, but –” Bilbo paused, frowned, and then pushed at Thorin’s arm to get the King to face her. “Fíli’s your – you’re his and Kíli’s _aunt_?”

 

“Were you not aware of this?”

 

“Obviously not!” She thumped a fist against Thorin’s shoulder. “You Dwarves and your confounded secrets!”

 

Thorin caught Bilbo’s wrist and rubbed gentle circles along the inside of it. “It’s best their identities are kept safe. They’re enough of a target as it is.”

 

Though she could concede the point, she wasn’t going to allow herself to be distracted. No matter how nice the motion of Thorin’s thumb was. Bilbo mustered up another glare. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what we were discussing.”

 

“Of course not.” Thorin grasped her other wrist. “You have the memory of an Oliphaunt.”

 

“Stop being such a –” Gentle pressure from the Dwarf was forcing Bilbo backwards. “Thorin, what are you –”

 

With a truly evil smile, Thorin Oakenshield, King of Durin’s Folk, shoved Bilbo into the pond near Beorn’s home. It gave her a perverse sense of triumph to hear Bilbo’s outraged shriek and the accompanying splash of water. She leisurely started removing her other vambrace as she waited for Bilbo to surface and start shouting at her.

 

Except… she didn’t.

 

Thorin stepped closer to the edge of the pond, frowning at the water. It was an almost palpable relief once Bilbo emerged, spluttering. Well, it was a relief until Thorin realised that the Hobbit was struggling.

 

“T-Thorin! I can’t – I can’t swim!”

 

She didn’t waste any time on reassurances. Bilbo needed to be saved, not comforted. Comfort could come after she was out of danger. Thorin started to tear off her armour, cursing every second she wasted.

 

Bilbo’s face abruptly slid into an expression of calm composure. She stopped thrashing about and – _inexplicably_ – rose so she was head and shoulders above the water. From the position of her arms, she had her hands on her hips.

 

“Now you know how it feels.”

 

Thorin gaped at her. “You – you –”

 

“It’s not very deep, seeing as I can stand in it,” Bilbo replied tartly as she waded towards the shore. “And before you start yelling, may I remind you that _you_ pushed me in.”

 

She frowned heavily. “Pushing you in is not the same as pretending to be drowning.”

 

“Again: now you know how it feels.”

 

There should have been a sharp reply to this. There _would_ have been a sharp reply, only Thorin found that her mouth was entirely too dry.

 

Bilbo struggling onto the bank was not a graceful sight. She was rapidly blinking to keep water out of her eyes, and seemed to be having trouble pulling herself up because of the weight of her sopping clothes. Once she’d gotten to her hands and knees on the grass, she stayed there, sucking in great gulps of air in an undignified fashion.

 

Her dress clung to _every_ curve of her body.

 

Thorin strode up to Bilbo and hoisted her to her feet… to be helpful, of course. The Hobbit – _her_ Hobbit – glared up at her balefully. And weren’t her hazel eyes enchanting, framed as they were by eyelashes that clung together with the wet?

 

“What are you looking at?” Bilbo asked. Even as she frowned, a blush dusted across her cheeks, and Thorin found it impossible to resist any longer. She leaned down, pausing when her lips were a hairsbreadth away from Bilbo’s. Just – just in case she’d read everything wrong. Just in case last night was a mistake.

 

Bilbo didn’t move, which Thorin thought was encouraging. Probably.

 

Damn it all, she’d deal with the consequences (if any) later.

 

Bilbo tasted like honey. Thorin tilted her head so she could chase that sweetness with her tongue, sliding her fingers more securely into Bilbo’s dripping hair. She felt small hands clutch at her back, just as surely as she felt blunt teeth close on her upper lip. Thorin growled and yanked Bilbo as close as she possibly could, uncaring that her clothes would become damp. She dragged her lips along Bilbo’s jaw, tasted the cool water of the pond, and then returned to swallow the _delightful_ mewls of her burglar.

 

“Thorin! Are you decent?”

 

The King sighed into Bilbo’s mouth, fingers tightening their grip for a millisecond before she stepped away. “What is it, Fíli?” she called.

 

There was a pause. “Is _Bilbo_ decent?” Kíli asked.

 

“Just get here, you bothersome Dwarves.”

 

They quite happily did so, crashing through the underbrush like particularly ungraceful elk. As one they grinned and bowed, and Thorin nodded her head in return.

 

“How come you’re wet, Bilbo?”

 

“She fell,” Thorin said flatly, before Bilbo could even make a sound. She imagined that the Hobbit was glaring at her behind her back. “Did you interrupt for a reason?”

 

“We wanted to know how long we’d be staying at Master Beorn’s.”

 

“Gandalf says that we should wait. I’m inclined to comply with this only so the Company may properly rest before we’re forced into the Greenwood.” She sneered. “Why do you ask this?”

 

“Well,” Kíli said.

 

“We asked Balin at first.”

 

“But he said that the best person to ask –”

 

“– would be you. So here we are.” Fíli grinned.

 

Thorin rolled her eyes. She wondered when her sister-sons would grow out of this particular phase.

 

Rather belatedly, Thorin noticed that Kíli was staring at something behind her – was staring at Bilbo, but didn’t have time enough to turn to look herself. No, instead all Thorin felt was a foot – a _Hobbit_ foot – solidly contact her arse, sending her toppling forward.

 

 _Mahal_ , the water was cold.

 

“You _blasted_ Halfling,” Thorin snarled as she broke the surface and flipped her hair out of her face. There was a distinct lack of malice in her voice and Bilbo seemed quite aware of it, because she merely poked her tongue out at Thorin.

 

Fíli and Kíli looked on, quite frankly amazed.

 

“It’s not my fault you fell,” Bilbo said, sticking her nose in the air snootily.

 

Thorin’s face twisted into a ferocious scowl just so she wouldn’t laugh instead. “Fíli, Kíli,” she barked. “Leave us. It’s time I thought this burglar some manners.”

 

The younger of the two hesitated as Thorin pulled herself out of the pond. “Aunt…”

 

“I said _go_.” She glanced away from Bilbo’s eyes – so promisingly filled with challenge – and at her nephews. Kíli looked troubled, worrying his lip between his teeth.

 

Fíli, on the other hand, was flushed a splotchy red. He quickly grabbed his brother’s hand and muttered something into his ear. Whatever he said was met with an incredulous look, and Thorin almost wanted to laugh. She could never keep anything from her kin for long.

 

Apparently not completely convinced, Kíli looked back towards Thorin. “You’re not going to _hurt_ Bilbo, are you?”

 

“Go. Now.”

 

They didn’t need to be told twice. Or, rather, Fíli didn’t need to be told twice; he pulled Kíli along away from the pond almost at a dead run and ignored all protests. Thorin only faced Bilbo once she’d made sure they were out of sight and earshot.

 

“Are you going to hurt me?”

 

It only took two quick strides and Thorin had her hand in Bilbo’s hair again. The other went to Bilbo’s waist, holding the Hobbit steady as Thorin pulled her curls and exposed her throat.

 

“Do you wish me to?” Thorin murmured. How curiously intoxicating Bilbo was. Thorin wanted to give pleasure and take it, she wanted to hold Bilbo close and never let go, she wanted, wanted, _wanted_.

 

“If it does the trick.” Bilbo’s tone was nonchalant, and almost believably so but for the flare of her nostrils and the slight breathlessness in her voice. She whimpered when Thorin tugged again.

 

“Take off your clothes,” she ordered. The King leaned close and brushed her lips along the tip of Bilbo’s ear, feeling her shudder. “Before you catch a chill.”

 

* * *

 

Bilbo groaned.

 

They were in the deepest part of the pond, where the water was high enough to tickle Thorin’s chin. Bilbo’s feet didn’t reach the bottom, not even if she tiptoed, so her hands were tight on Thorin’s wide shoulders so she could keep afloat.

 

Honestly speaking, she couldn’t actually swim.

 

Right now, this was not a concern. She was more preoccupied with Thorin’s fingers between her legs and the accompanying swirl of the water against their bodies.

 

“You know,” Bilbo panted, flexing her fingers. “You know that we can’t take too long.” The others would be suspicious. Or they’d have a pretty good idea of what had kept the two of them, and Bilbo didn’t fancy being teased.

 

“Not my fault.” Thorin seemed entirely too fixated on Bilbo’s ears (not that she was complaining). “You’re distracting.”

 

Bilbo was sure that she was red all over. She pressed her lips to Thorin’s sweetly, stifling her whimpers as the King moved her hand more quickly.

 

“If y’want, you’re welcome to wash my hair.” Thorin snickered against Bilbo’s neck, making her squirm.

 

“Can’t. If I let go, I’ll drown.” But, oh, if Thorin kept that up she’d die a happy death indeed.

 

“Use your legs, silly Halfling.”

 

Legs? How was she supposed to wash hair with her _legs_? Bilbo, befuddled, opened her mouth to ask this very question when Thorin took her thighs in hand and encouraged Bilbo to wrap them around the King’s waist. Oh.

 

 _Oh_.

 

The new position had the added advantage of sandwiching their bodies together. Gooseflesh ran across her shoulders and her breath hissed between her teeth when Thorin firmly slid her fingers to cup Bilbo’s ample bottom.

 

“Hold your breath,” was Bilbo’s only warning before Thorin bent her knees and submerged them both.

 

Being underwater was a strange and unwelcome experience. Bilbo’s instincts were telling her to thrash to the surface, to get out of the water, so get to land and _stay there_. Hobbits did not do well near bodies of water, and she was very much out of her element here.

 

But, but the thing was, her body was so intertwined with Thorin’s that thrashing was impractical. Impossible, even. More than that, though, was the way she felt _safe_. The world was muted in her ears, and Bilbo was entranced by the ethereality of Thorin’s dark locks swaying about her head.

 

Still, safety wasn’t much to go on when one was running out of breath – especially when Thorin proceeded to steal what was left of it by sealing their lips together.

 

There were bubbles tickling her cheeks as they rushed to the surface, and then the startling burst of cool air against their skin as Thorin straightened, and the breathless giggle she couldn’t keep in as they separated.

 

“You’re terrible,” Bilbo accused, trying to glare.

 

Thorin moved her hand again and grinned wolfishly at the hitching breaths she was able to elicit. “Yes.”

 

In the end, neither washed the other’s hair. Bilbo couldn’t find the coordination to manage it; all she could do was hold on for dear life, biting her lower lip until it was red and raw. As soon as Thorin had reduced her to a quivering mess of limbs, the King deposited her on the sun-warmed grass.

 

Thorin was a delicious weight over her, shamelessly rutting against her thigh, and Bilbo magnanimously helped her along by squeezing and pinching Thorin’s breasts the way she seemed to like it.

 

What ruined Thorin was when Bilbo worried a mark onto her collarbone, marking her low enough that only they two would know it was there. She murmured incomprehensibly into Bilbo’s hair as she climaxed, shuddering, and Bilbo was absently grateful that the Dwarf collapsed off to the side instead of on top of her.

 

They lay together, legs tangled, for long moments.

 

“I think,” Thorin muttered finally, fitting her hands to the curve of Bilbo’s waist. “Our clothes are dry.”

 

“Hmm.” Bilbo allowed herself to be kissed and then pulled to her feet. “You haven’t escaped from our discussion, you know.”

 

Thorin laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Suddenly I have a craving to write ALL THE FIC for these two. I really like genderbent Bagginshield, it seems. Still got loads of prompts to go through, so there will be more. Eventually. Slowly.
> 
> And, of course everything devolves into smut. (At least the hair washing was mentioned...?)


End file.
